


rome is burning (but i still want you)

by aelins



Series: the burning cities trilogy [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Espionage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Major Character Injury, Nesta has to cheat on Cas because it's part of her job, Non-Explicit Sex, Russian Mafia, Spies & Secret Agents, Time Skips, devoted nessian, lots of lewd language, they love each other very much tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelins/pseuds/aelins
Summary: Her heels click on the pavement, and he turns to face her, giving her a warm smile.“Nes,” Cassian’s voice is a dark ache of longing.“Cas.” She walks up to the railing facing out toward the Thames, except for the brief moment when she saw his face, Nesta did the best she could to not look into the hazel depths of his eyes. The depths that had lied again and again.“What’s the purpose of this meeting?” She asked, “Because if you’re trying to get me killed I’m sure there are less painful ways to do it.”[...]Nesta’s wedding band clanked against the steel railing. It was like every deity in the world was trying to remind her of the place she held in this life—in his life. That she was not just a murderer, whore, and thief.She was a wife.Maybe a mother someday if Cassian had his way.A Nessian Russian Mafia/Spy AU
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Series: the burning cities trilogy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918576
Comments: 27
Kudos: 64





	1. tell me, who are you in the dark?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I wrote this while wathcing Red Sparrow, which is a horrible movie but the plot twist at the end is really good. *shrugs into infinity* My beta is slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on tumblr !
> 
> [JOIN THE 18+ SJM WRITERS DISCORD!](https://discord.gg/9EFYA7g)

Nesta Archeron was a lot of things; a thief, a murderer and on occasion a whore. Nesta knew the power she held over men and frequently used it to extort favors, money or simply take a life. It had been too long since she’d had time away from the overlords that controlled her every move. She just wanted to breathe the free air, let her very tightly braided hair down for a day or two. 

Nesta knew she was undervalued by her employers, she was deadly in many ways, the least of which was her venus flytrap behavior. She could shoot and brawl with the best of the men out there. 

She was no lady, and those who mistook her for a shrinking violet with pretty tits and air in her head often paid for their miscalculation with their lives. 

She was the Lone Wolf, the Russian Mafia’s shark. 

It’d been so long since she’d gotten away from the absurdity of her schedule that it nearly stressed her out when she traveled to London for a business meeting, which she entirely planned on extending for a few extra days. 

She landed at Heathrow, and was greeted by a driver, whom she tipped generously and began drinking as soon as she’s inside the car, there was champagne and caviar. Ah, yes she could get used to this. 

Nesta had a lot of vices, sex being the main one, and alcohol another. London traffic was nigh unbearable, but she deals with it plus it gives her more time to loosen up before she calls the escort service for a good and luxurious fuck. 

Nesta could’ve had anyone she wanted, she was stunningly beautiful, but something about being able to order a man like a pizza (blonde, brunette, green eyes, blue eyes, tall dark and handsome, it didn’t matter) that was a special treat. 

She texted her sister, Feyre, who was back home in Moscow, with her new baby, and the President. Rhysand was a fearsome leader, and Nesta respected him—most of the time. The most recent pregnancy for Feyre’s second child had been rough, something they’d known going into it. Nesta had often cursed Rhysand’s impossibly long hours. 

A thought that hadn’t occurred to her in months came to her, and she tried to shove that out of her mind as well. It’s just a word, a name that she’s tried to wipe from her memory with drugs and countless cocks. 

Cassian. 

This man was ruining her lovely vacation and he wasn’t even here. She had no intention of seeing him, even if this was his city. 

She decided maybe it will be worth the cost of the hangover she got tomorrow if she started in on the hard stuff. A bottle of Oban seems to call her name from its place in the tray she’d requested. The siren call of hard liquor often led her to dark places, she tried to stick to wine, even if it was in copious amounts. She could get black out drunk tonight, who would care? Certainly not her. 

It had never mattered that she drank alone, and in great quantities, she didn’t have friends, she had her sisters though and maybe that wasn’t enough. Elain was turning thirty-two this year and had long since made her graceful exit from the life of crime. She’d married an Oligarch, a man that she deserved, in every way. 

The car came to stop, and she realized she wasn’t at the hotel, no, they’re on the other side of town. “Where the hell are we?” She slurred, already feeling the heady buzz of the Oban. 

They were on a small bridge, overlooking an offshoot of the Thames. 

The driver gave her a slow smile, “Why don’t you get out and find out?” 

That sounded dangerous, she loaded and cocked the gun in her purse. It was a Beretta, her favorite gun, modified in every way possible. Weapons were Nesta’s armor, along with her beauty. 

Nesta stepped out of the car, the engine humming idly, and there was a man on the bridge, a man she can tell, just by the breadth of his shoulders and monstrously absurd height... is Cassian Night. 

Her heels click on the pavement, and he turns to face her, giving her a warm smile. 

“Nes,” Cassian’s voice is a dark ache of longing. 

“Cas.” She walks up to the railing facing out toward the Thames, except for the brief moment when she saw his face, Nesta did the best she could to not look into the hazel depths of his eyes. The depths that had lied again and again. 

“What’s the purpose of this meeting?” She asked, “Because if you’re trying to get me killed I’m sure there are less painful ways to do it.” 

Cassian places his hand over hers momentarily. “It was the only way.” 

“There is no meeting is there? You,” She points a perfectly manicured acrylic nail at him, “Arranged this.” 

“I have an offer, you’re going to want to take it.” Cassian said, now staring out at the dirty water himself. 

Nesta shook her head. “No. You don’t.” 

Cassian sighed, a long-suffering sigh that brought back so many emotions, so many memories—no she couldn’t think about that. She couldn’t think about how seeing him like this, his muscular arms crossed over his chest did something unspeakable to her. A burst of hope seemed to rain down on her, in this, her darkest hour. 

“I just want you home, I want you whole, and my bosses are growing tired of your games.” 

“Cassian you don’t have a boss, you are the boss.” 

“You know that’s not true, I answer to the British people, the Prime Minister and a whole slew of other—“ 

“I know,” Nesta’s wedding band clanked against the steel railing. It was like every deity in the world was trying to remind her of the place she held in this life—in his life. That she was not just a murderer, whore, and thief. 

She was a wife. 

Maybe a mother someday if Cassian had his way. 

“I have to bring you in,” Cassian says, “You’ve been AWOL for months, it’s my job and my life at risk.” 

Nesta hissed a foul curse word. “Do you wish me dead? You know I know too much if you take me in now I’m no use to anyone, except the other end of your Glock.” 

Cassian kissed her forehead and the act was so unexpected, she cringed. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for four months.” 

Nesta heard the unspent emotion in his voice. “Where am I to be kept?” There was a crispness in her voice that spoke volumes about what she thought about this. She knew it would be her death. 

Cassian saw her sway and just before she pitched over the railing, he caught her with the grace she’d forgotten he possessed. “You’re to be kept safe, and away from that foul whiskey.” 

He helped her walk back to the car, where the security services driver listened to Cassian and took them back to HQ, to the MI-6 headquarters. 

She had never felt so ill after so little liquor, she’s tipsy enough to curl her significantly more petite body into his chest. 

She falls asleep in his arms. 

*~*~* 

The debriefing doesn’t go as smoothly as she’d hoped, and she still has a lot to answer for. Still, after three days of grueling questions, she’s deemed fit to return to duty. 

Nesta doesn’t know what use she’ll be, she’d missed the meeting, missed everything and Rhysand had texted to say that if he found out she’d been with Cassian that it would be her head—literally. 

It’s Saturday morning, and she wakes up in Cassian’s arms, and when she tries to wriggle out of his grip, he holds her tighter. He mumbles something incoherent. 

“Cas,” she whispers, “Casssssssssssss let me go, honey.” 

He grins in his sleep at the use of the pet name and then rolls over on top of her. 

She squeals with joy as she realizes he has no intention of letting her get her fancy espresso drink from down the road, or even leave this bed until he has had his fill of her. 

And that’s ok. 

It’s all ok, because they’re together. 

She’d forgotten how other lovers paled in comparison to her husband, as he kissed her, and he drew slow, sensual moans from her lips, with only his hands and lips, she wondered how badly he must be hurting right now. He had to know that she’s cheated in so many ways and it had been the biggest regret of her nearly thirty years of life. It had all been part of the ruse, but it hurt her soul more than any betrayal of her country could possibly wound her. 

She doesn’t deserve him, not now, not ever. 

Still he takes his time with her, softening her with his mouth, his tongue and his fingers. He slaps her ass, hard enough to leave a mark, as if that would ever be punishment enough for what she’s done, for what a foreign government has essentially forced her to do. 

She’d sold her body and her soul. But her heart would always belong to Cassian. 

Which is why when he fucked her good and hard, she cried. When they’re spent and sticky, his still hard length still inside her, he held her. For everything she’s done and everything she hadn’t. 

Because he still wanted her, he always would, and so did she.


	2. had to get ready for war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unthinkable tragedy strikes Nesta like a bolt of lightning to the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wink wonk* NO ONE DIES! (and as you can see i've increased the chapter count! )

President Rhysand called her on a secure line not long after Cassian decided to go make them breakfast. 

Rhysand’s Russian was thick and slurred, it was night time in Russia, and she knows he’d been drinking, something he did just as frequently as she did. “Mrs. Night,” he says in greeting, but there’s a foul, displeased tone to his voice. 

“It’s awful late Rhysand, shouldn’t you be home with your new baby?” She spoke in Russian, to do otherwise would be entirely unwise. 

Rhysand snickered drunkenly to himself. “We have photos of you,  _ with Director Night _ . He was holding your hand, do you have an explanation or should the sniper outside your window take aim and fire?” 

Nesta almost laughed. Cassian’s bedroom didn’t have windows, for this exact reason. “Sure, go ahead.” 

There was a long pause, “I am very tired, Nesta,” Rhysand’s voice sounded considerably soberer now. “He has you, doesn’t he?” 

“I think we both know that he does,” Nesta fidgeted with the five-hundred thread count sheets. 

Rhysand loosed a snarl that would’ve struck terror into the heart of a lesser woman. “Tell my brother… that it would be unwise to allow you to return to your position. Once a traitor, always a traitor.” 

Rhysand was not always like this. For the most part, he was a good man who loved his wife and his two children dearly. Sometimes, though, the foolish nationalism that had been shoved down his throat all his life got the better of him. He put the memory of the glory days of Russia, now long gone, before the good of his family. Sometimes she wondered if Rhysand would be an entirely different man if he were not President of Russia. 

Cassian chose this exact moment to walk into the room with a tray filled with fluffy pancakes, coffee, orange juice, berries, and whipped cream. 

Rhysand hung up, knowing his brother was there. 

“Just a lovely call from your younger brother.” 

Cassian made a face, “Tell him to stay in his wasteland of a country.” 

Nesta’s expression softened, “You know if what we have planned goes through—“ 

Cassian shook his head, “Not another word until you have breakfast, you look like you’ve been surviving on Oban.” 

“Maybe I have,” Nesta said darkly. 

“Nes…I don’t want to think about what he’s put you through.” 

“He’s a good man, he loves his country just a bit too much though.” Nesta sighed and dug into Cassian’s homemade pancakes, not made from a mix or anything. 

It was delicious, and she nearly finished the whole tray of food. Usually eating made her feel ill, especially in the mornings, when she had to contend with a blistering hangover. The queasiness wasn’t there this morning, and since she hadn’t consumed an absurd amount of liquor last night, she wasn’t hungover. 

Nesta sat back in bed with what was left of a very rich cup of coffee. “Did you eat?” 

Cassian rolled his eyes, “Do I look like I don’t get enough to eat?” 

Nesta tsk’d, “That’s no way to speak to your wife.” 

A feline smirk graced Cassian’s lips, and he took the tray, and vanished with it, reappearing moments later. 

“Since you’re not going on assignment anymore..” Cassian got into bed with Nesta, and wrapped his strong arms around her, “And because I’m not getting younger… let’s…” Cassian swallowed hard, “Let’s have a baby.” 

Nesta froze. “Do I seem like the maternal type to you…?” If she did, then he’d vastly miscalculated. How could he even ask her that? She was a spy. A ruthless dagger in the night. 

Not some round-faced, barefoot and pregnant mother. 

“Even spies have families, especially retired ones.” 

Nesta was like a wooden board in his arms. “You cannot mean that.” 

“There’s no way the MOD is going to let you out there again.” 

Nesta wrestled herself our of Cassian’s arms and threw a pillow in his face. “I am Nesta Archeron, the most feared Russian spy since the Cold War. I brought the FSB to its knees and they don’t even know it yet.” 

Cassian was stunned into silence, for a long moment and then he replied, “I haven’t read the transcripts from your debriefing.” 

Nesta snarled, “Maybe you  _ should _ .” She stormed from the room, and Cassian’s heart plunged as he heard the front door slam with enough force to make the whole house shudder. 

*~*~*

Nesta walked briskly, she hadn’t even gotten her coat on fully when she’d stormed from her home. She knew it was dangerous to be out here, like this. She knew there were sniper teams digging for her. Nesta could be struck down, not so dissimilar from a lightning bolt sent by God himself. 

Which is why she doesn’t blink when she hears the crack of a gunshot. 

It came from behind her. 

_ Cassian _ . 

He was such a high profile target, he was the Director of MI-6 and had been a spy himself for years. He’d climbed the ladder before he even reached thirty—and as Nesta’s feet carry her back to the house, at top speed regardless of the high heeled boots on her feet—she already knows it’s Cassian who was shot. 

She finds him bleeding, leaning on their marble countertops. He’s got a note gripped in his hand, Cassian coughs blood, and she knows it’s bad. There’s a panic button in the house, which will send a team to their house. She runs for it, and slams her palm on it so hard she nearly breaks it. 

Adrenaline spikes and she lowers him to the floor, holding his hand. 

“I l-love y-you,” Cassian’s mouth is brimming with blood, and her heart is sinking. 

“I know,  _ I know _ . Oh, Cas…” 

His eyes flutter, and she thinks this might be the end of her marriage, the end of her life as she’d known it for the past ten years. She’d fallen in love with Cassian when he was still in college, and so was she. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. 

She needed him,  _ always _ .

When Cassian loses consciousness, she reads the note, it was a handwritten note from Rhysand. 

_ My dear brother, this is your call to come home.  _

Nesta burned the note, sobs wracking her body.  _ She was going to kill him. _

*~*~* 

Cassian was in surgery for nearly 12 hours. They still didn’t know if he would live, and the Prime Minister had expressed his desire for Nesta, of all people to pick up the slack. 

She’d scoffed in his face, being entirely honest about the facts, “I’m an agent, an asset and definitely not a bureaucrat. I have a husband to take care of. I shoot first, ask questions later.” 

The PM had groaned and said he’d deal with it. 

The MOD had been in touch too and she had listened to the voicemail (who left voicemails nowadays?) with horror. 

_ Rhysand was on a plane coming here.  _

Of course, he would be detained at the airport, or at least she _ hoped _ he would be. 

She wanted to see her brother-in-law if only to be the person who shot him first. 

She needed to understand his reasons. It was too much. 

*~*~* 

Rhysand

*~*~* 

Rhysand ponders his actions as he flies high above Eastern Europe. His brother, the man he’d been bounced between orphanage to orphanage with. He can only think of how this puts him beyond all hope. 

Feyre had been furious, raging loud enough to wake both of their children. 

He didn’t know if she’d come back, but she’d taken his kids and that was more than he could bear. His shoulders feel heavy, as if he was Atlas, bearing the burden of the Earth and all seven billion souls on it. 

He hoped Cassian knew his hand been forced. Despite the rumors of Rhysand’s cruelty, it was often his advisors who went ahead and did things. This was a fact he could barely bring himself to think of. The Head of FSB had taken his duty seriously and overstepped, knowing Rhysand wouldn’t take the burden of his brother’s death on his shoulders. 

Needless to say, the man who’d ordered Cassian’s death hadn’t lived all that long either. 

But Cas wasn’t dead, and Rhysand knew coming to England—under the guise of a hunting trip—would be poorly received by his people. 

He plays the diplomatic immunity card at the airport, and gruffly, the British authorities agree to not search the plane. 

He wasn’t hiding anything anyway. 

Nothing, that is, except for the darkness raging in the dying light of his heart. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to tell his wife, let alone Nesta, or Feyre, or even his other brother, Azriel, about how none of this went how he’d planned. 

The truth was—Rhysand had known Nesta was bringing down the country he loved. And he had known that it was necessary. Russia was a broken piece of machinery, rusted and falling apart, much like the Cold War-era submarines, sitting in the harbors on the Black Sea. 

He was so tired of fighting for a country that would just as soon tear itself apart than give him a damn thing. 

It was time to leave office, and it would likely cost Rhysand more than merely his pride. 

*~*~* 

Cassian 

*~*~* 

He wakes and the melodic beeping of a heart monitor greets him. He feels like he’s been run over by a truck several times. He’d read the note, that had been hurriedly stuffed into his hand by an assassin, and he was concerned about the meaning of it all. Did Rhysand truly expect him to acquiesce to his foolish demands? 

Wouldn’t his brother understand? He had a life here, and though Rhysand was his brother, he had no sway over Cassian… most of the time. 

Cassian couldn’t reconcile the man who’d ordered his death—and failed—with the boy who’d been his best friend as a child, and adolescent. 

He feels exhausted though he’s sure he’s been asleep for too long. 

A head of golden brown hair, with braids atop her head like an elegant crown, swam into focus. 

“Nes,” He croaks. 

The woman is not Nesta though. 

It’s his sister in law, Feyre. Elain and Azriel are there as well. 

The monitor's soft beeping spikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr!](https://cassiansiphions.tumblr.com) / twitter!
> 
> I post all my fics and some bonus on tumblr, so it's your best bet!


	3. dodging angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhysand reveals the truth about his past, and future. Nesta proves her worth as Cassian's wife, by protecting him with her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a _really_ heavy chapter. I keep getting questions on tumblr about whether or not this will be a main character death fic and the answer is a RESOUNDING NO. I do not write character death, almost ever. This will end in HEA (happily ever after). I've got the fourth chapter thought out and I may end up extending the chapter count (lol again!) 
> 
> As you can see I've added the other couples involved. There's considerably more Feyre/Rhysand and Elain/Azriel in this. 
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments on the last chapter, I'm always awed when people leave flattering comments on my work!

Nesta does not hesitate. She cocks Cassian’s standard-issue Glock 17, and puts it to Rhysand’s temple. “Give me a reason, _ I beg you _ .” 

Rhysand turns to her, so the gun is now facing his forehead. “You have more reasons than I could possibly furnish you within the tenth of a second it’s going to take you to pull the trigger.” 

Nesta was standing inside the private hangar at Heathrow which belonged to Rhysand, a wild, wounded noise tears through Nesta, and she pistol whips him hard across the face. One of Rhys’ molars goes flying. 

“You son of a bitch.” Nesta says, taking aim. 

Rhysand, her sister’s husband, the president of Russia was about to be assassinated by Nesta Archeron. 

But it’s her conscious, and Cassian’s voice in her head which makes her hands tremble, Rhysand has his hands up, in a don’t shoot gesture. 

_ Are we any better than them if we kill civilians? If we cannot protect their innocent who are torn between Russia’s force of nature and the divisive nature of the West… are we truly the protectors?  _

Nesta advances. 

Cassian would be awake, and if she did this then she would never see him again. Something like guilt sticks in her throat like a barb. 

Rhysand’s words pour from his lips before he can stop them, “It wasn’t me, it was never me. I wanted to see Russia strong, and cooperating with NATO and all the good things you envision for your country. You don’t understand—“ 

Nesta fires into the roof of the hangar, “I understand perfectly. You nearly killed the only man I have ever loved.” 

“That wasn’t me and you know it,” Rhysand is breathing hard, his chest heaving and she knows he’s thinking of Feyre and their children right now. He must be scared. 

She’d never seen Rhysand be anything but arrogant and blatantly unafraid, this male before her, the man who is a husband and father shakes her to her core. 

_ She lowers the gun. _

One word is pulled from her lips, and she hopes Rhysand makes the best of it, “Explain.” 

*~*~* 

It takes two hours for Nesta and Rhysand to figure things out. Rhysand explains in no lack of detail how he’d been dealt a hand that was unplayable when he was elected. The army had been failing, the economy in recession, the people desperate for a revolution that would put them back on the map. 

And Rhysand’s hand had been forced, in a way she hadn’t thought possible. 

His most trusted advisor, Amarantha had betrayed him and then done the unthinkable. She’d forced herself on Rhysand and it had broken him in the worst way. 

_ Until Feyre.  _

Nesta thinks if she ever learned something similar had happened to Cassian, she’d put so many holes in the person responsible there wouldn’t be much left. 

“I understand,” she says, wrapping her arms around Rhysand’s shoulders. “You were given nothing, and you had to use only your nerve to survive.” A position she’d been put in too many times to count.

Rhysand nods, rubbing her back. They rise, and Nesta realizes that they, the British government, will need to protect Rhysand. 

Nesta makes some phone calls, and then a car arrives moments later to pick them up and bring them to the hospital, where she has no doubt both her sisters and Azriel await. 

The car ride is slow and traffic is bad. Rhysand is eerily silent. 

“How is he?” Rhysand asks, and she realizes Rhysand’s cheeks are wet with tears. 

Nesta had never thought the man standing in front of her could contain so much emotion. He’d been a master at hiding things from her, and she wondered now if this was the truth. 

“He’s alive.” Nesta’s reply is short and unfeeling. Rhysand had explained how his advisors had ordered the hit on Cassian. “But other than that I have no idea. I assume he’s in a world of hurt.” 

“You know—“ 

“No, I don’t know. Apparently I don’t know anything about you and I don’t...” Her words catch in her throat, “I don’t know if I can stand any more bad news today.” 

He nods, and in the back of the car, he looks out the window. 

“I’ll be dead before he’s fully recovered, I just want to see him... one more time.” 

Nesta nods, and he’s right, the Russian’s won’t take this well. Whether by poison or a well-placed bullet Rhysand _ will  _ die. 

It just won’t be by her hand, a fact she’s grateful for. 

They finally arrive at the hospital and Nesta has to flash her government-issued ID, to get the guards at Cassian’s room to ease up. She’s glad they’re being so strict. 

With Rhysand in tow, she sees Cassian is talking and joking with Azriel. Elain and Feyre are cooing over Feyre’s new baby, and the sonogram of Elain’s baby to be. 

The room goes silent when Rhysand clears his throat, but Cassian is the first to speak. 

“Nesta texted me, she said you weren’t dead which I assume means you have a damn good reason for—“ He gestured at the bandages on his chest, “all this.” 

Rhysand smiled, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes, there was a weariness that came with this kind of work and Nesta could tell he was beginning to fade. That’s what happened with politicians, in high-pressure positions, they burned themselves up with grief and mourning. 

“I do, and I hope you’ll hear me out.” 

Rhysand dove headlong into the reasons for his apparent betrayal, which hadn’t been a betrayal on his part at all. He explains the situation with Amarantha, how he’d been abused, and had suffered from Stockholm Syndrome. It was a difficult and heavy conversation. Feyre was in tears, although Nesta supposed she’d heard it all in much greater detail. Nesta thought it was a sad story, and the truth was often more terrifying than any lie could be. 

Elain pipes up, and walks over to Rhys, “I’m sorry you went through that, I’m sorry you and Feyre had to carry this weight alone, you should’ve leaned on us from the beginning.” 

Rhysand gave Elain a watery smile and hugged her. 

Cassian gave Nesta a sharp look and crooked a finger at her. She went and sat on the corner of her bed. Cassian whispered to her, “You look more murderous than normal.” 

Azriel was hugging his brother. 

Something wasn’t right. It was like with every moment, Rhysand’s dread grew. 

He knew something, or suspected, something that would be worse than this news. 

The set of Cassian’s shoulders are rigid and looked painful. 

What if... what if getting them all in the same room had been a ploy? Had the Russians known Rhysand was in Britain? A thousand thoughts move like a tsunami through Nesta’s mind. 

Cassian looks tenser than he should be, given the amount of narcotics in his system. 

Nesta is calculating ways of escape when the glass window of the hospital room shatters and rains down sharp glass on everyone in the room. 

Nesta snarls. She didn’t have a kit with her, there’s a sniper, and she can’t take him out. 

The room erupts into madness, Azriel, whom she didn’t even know, knew how to hold a gun, has a nine-millimeter Beretta in his hand. 

Rhysand’s bleeding out on the floor, and her heart feels like it might just quit from the shock of it all. 

The guards outside the door are bloody and their rapidly cooling bodies are a signal that she really needs to get out of here. 

Fucking hospital rooms and their damn windows. 

Nesta snaps at Azriel, “Do you have something bigger than a fucking 9mm on you?” 

“Down the hall, there’s a fifty caliber rifle stashed by the crash cart.” 

Nesta knew she liked Azriel for a reason. The sniper seems to be trying to pick them off, one at a time, Feyre and Elain are frozen with fear. 

The bullets have stopped, and she quickly closes the blinds, making it impossible for the sniper to see them. But then again, maybe with Rhysand mortally wounded he was gone. 

She steals into the hall and grabs the sniper’s kit. 

Despite the blood and the adrenaline, she knows this is make or break. She walks into the room and sees Cassian. He smiles sadly at her and nods. 

It takes her thirty-two seconds to set up, and seventeen seconds to find the sniper. 

_ She should’ve known.  _

Amarantha’s blazing red hair is perched two hundred yards north and downwind of the room, she’s in. 

Nesta can see through the scope, and she takes aim, reminding herself of her motto, _one shot one kill_. 

Azriel has collected Feyre, the baby, and Elain into the safety of the corner of the room, and was acting as a human shield for them. 

She inhales and in the space between heartbeats, she fires. 

Amarantha topples from her perch, and onto the pavement below. 

Nesta breathes a sigh of relief but soon realizes that Rhysand... if he’s not gone by now he will be soon. The nurses and doctors are pouring into the room, as soon as she’s given the all-clear. 

Rhysand’s limp body is pulled from the room, and Feyre nearly collapses. Elain looks on tearfully, and Cassian? 

Cassian looks so wrecked, she’s afraid he’ll do something foolish. 

Nesta wonders if this line of work was ever going to be worth it. The heartache and loss, it would kill her every time. 

Cassian makes good on his foolish bravery moments later, trying to get out of bed, though he’s weak and Nesta fights him back down. The room is coated in Rhysand’s blood, and Nesta has blood spatter on her. 

She holds Cassian as he sobs, crying out, _my brother, my brother_. Over and over. 

The blood smears on Cassian’s cheek and she hopes the people here can pull another rabbit out the hat, for her sisters' and Cassian’s sake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat on [tumblr!](https://cassiansiphions.tumblr.com) I would love some asks about this because I've got a lot planned!


	4. keep your distance from the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta knows what she has to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to last chapter. last chapter will be up tomorrow or the day after. 
> 
> friendly reminder we have the [18+ SJM DISCORD!](https://discord.gg/awASsVq)

How many cups of coffee delivered a life-threatening dose of caffeine? Surely she’d had six or seven… or more. The warm fluid trickling down her throat made her both jumpy and relaxed all at once. 

From the last update, she’d gotten Rhysand was in recovery. It’d been another lengthy surgery. Feyre was a mess, a goddamn mess. Azriel had held her back while Feyre fought tooth and nail to go to her husband. The hospital was a zoo and Nesta… Nesta went outside and with shaky fingers, pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it. Then she lit another and another. Anything to be away from the cloying darkness and the scent of death. 

Amarantha was dead, and Nesta had killed her. While she’s standing near the street, she realizes if there’s another sniper, she’ll be dead. It’s only this thought the prevents her from lighting the  _ fourth _ cigarette. She needs a shower after all the smoke and blood. She feels like she can taste gun powder in her mouth. 

Nesta had been in tight situations, many times. She had tried to wash out Rhysand’s blood from her clothes, Nesta had been too panicked to go home and change—god only knew what awaited her. 

The Prime Minister texts her, texts her. Nesta knows she must be hallucinating, yes stress-induced hallucinations would make greatly more sense than what she was reading right now. 

**[Prime Minister Vanserra]** I need you to strap in, the news is breaking and the Russian’s are going ballistic. You’ve given them the revolution they have so desperately desired. 

**[Nesta Night]** Lucien, I think I’m hearing some resentment in this text. 

**[Prime Minister Vanserra]** You can call me Lucien when you haven’t just ignited world war three. 

**[Nesta Night]** Apologies, Rhysand’s getting out of surgery. 

**[Prime Minister Vanserra]** You need to be careful around him. 

**[Nesta Night]** I think I know who I need to be careful around, thank you. 

She’d never defended Rhysand’s honor in her whole life. It was ludicrous, would the stars fall from the heavens next? She supposed that would be less shocking than the fact that she was about to go feed her brother-in-law ice chips. 

Rhysand had never been weak a moment in his life, but she supposed there was a first time for everything. 

Distantly, she thinks of Cassian and the way he’d held her as she smeared blood over him. Their union was soaked in the blood of too many people, she’d killed, lied, and stolen so much to uphold Cassian. She wouldn’t change one thing about the way they’d come together, and the way they’d stuck like glue together. Cassian was still recovering, he couldn’t be down here with her while she manned the warship that was the NATO allies. 

No doubt this would be breaking in America soon. Americans loved war, it may as well have been the national pastime. She sighs as Rhysand’s eyes open. Feyre is asleep and she knows she needs to wake her sister so Feyre doesn’t chew her out for missing even one second of what might be left of Rhysand’s life. 

She gently nudges Feyre, her sister was a light sleeper. Feyre sighs and Nesta leaves the room, leaving them to talk. 

Rhysand hadn’t been shot in the chest as she’d originally thought, but he had suffered a near-fatal wound to his spine and back. He’d be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. And all Nesta could think was that this Amarantha character was a horrible shot. 

But maybe that was on purpose. Nesta’s feet carry her to the elevators in the hospital, she needs to speak to her husband, and more importantly, she needs to speak to Azriel and learn what his spies had figured out. Azriel may not have been in the Russian government, but he had spies, thieves, and many daggers in the night. They all worked for him and did his bidding unquestionably. 

Sometimes Nesta forgot that she was probably the most well-connected spy in the world, it certainly made the job much easier. 

*~*~* 

Cassian is eating lunch, which Azriel had gotten him from the nearby Indian place. Nesta watches with a grin, “It’s good to see you eat, it means you’re getting better.” 

“I’m less than seventy-two hours out of surgery.” Cassian grouses. “Besides it’s not like I was going to eat what they served here.” A discarded tray of disgusting hospital food lies discarded. She noticed the dessert had been taken though. She felt a flutter of happiness through her. Leave it Cassian to eat dessert first. 

“Still,” Nesta pauses despite the happiness now fluttering through her, and Azriel stands, understanding her meaning, “I need to speak to you both.” 

Azriel seems to have a sixth sense about when he’s needed, he was the oldest of the brothers and she knew he’d dealt with Rhysand’s shenanigans his whole life, he’d likely had to pick up the pieces more than once. This discussion would be old hat to this man. 

She takes a deep breath and dives into the deep water of her concerns. “Lucien Vanserra has been in touch.” 

Azriel crosses his arms across his broad chest and snarls, “The PM is free to communicate as he desires.” 

The way Azriel says it, tells her there’s something behind this. “Tamlin…?” Nesta begins and Azriel’s snarl deepens. “You know something then….” Nesta doesn’t know why she was surprised. 

“Tamlin is on his way to Russia, I got word not long ago.” 

Nesta’s heart kicks up in her chest and she vaguely wonders if she should bother with Lucien. “So… Tamlin’s on his way to Russia, most likely to take out…” Nesta groans, and suddenly it makes sense. 

Tamlin was the Queen’s knife in the dark, and by extension, the PM’s. He was a highly trained, performance-enhancing drugged, murdering machine. No one spoke for a long moment. 

Amarantha was dead, but Mr. Hybern was not. 

No one knew his first name, to curse or extol, Mr. Hybern was a Russian who’d dabbled in all sorts of unmentionables. He was likely the high-level advisor who had ordered the strike at the Hospital, Cassian’s attempted assassination, and the bullet that had ended Rhys’ ability to walk. 

Nesta had always burned with rage. But knowing this man, who she’d sworn was her enemy from her first day in the Kremlin, had nearly killed her husband and her whole family—it lit the fires of hell under her heels. 

*~*~* 

Russia was wet and cold this time of year. She was outside a derelict looking old warehouse. She knew what was waiting inside for her. It was either her damnation or salvation. 

Nesta was not a god-fearing woman, but she says a silent prayer, _ for Cassian, for all those who have suffered _ . 

Then she’s getting out of the beat-up old Land Rover and she pulls out a gun that would hopefully end this whole thing. 

This was as close to a standoff, western style, as spies got. Her hair was covered by a thick balaclava, no one would know who she was, and that was imperative. 

She sets up and takes her time. They wouldn’t be here for a few hours at least. 

Cassian had sent her off with a hug, and kiss, and made her promise she wouldn’t come home in a wooden box. 

She’d made no such promise, but she’d kissed him sweetly all the same. 

“Well, well,” Nesta turns sharply from her spot on the ground, pushing herself into a crouched sitting position and cocking her gun. 

The unseemly blonde hair, the razor-sharp smile, it could only belong to the war machine that was Tamlin. 

She knew, that shooting him without an explanation would be cause for her immediate dismissal and thus death. So she holds her fire until the last second. 

Tamlin’s voice is the croon of war, “You know, I didn’t think they let little girls in dresses do the work of men.” 

“Keep talking, and I’ll blow your jaw off.” 

Tamlin had never been able to keep his mouth shut, and as he cocks his gun and takes aim, she doesn’t hesitate. 

Nesta fires three shots into his brain, and Tamlin drops like a stone, undone by his own arrogance. She’d known he wouldn’t expect her to fire on him, had expected her to be docile, and surrender her life to him. 

As she wipes the blood spray from her face, for the second time in as many weeks, she knows Mr. Hybern isn’t coming. 

There would be another day to fight, another day to face down evil. 

*~*~* 

She forms a team, some of Rhysand’s men, who were loyal to him and him alone, some of Azriel’s clock and dagger folks, and some of her own. There were women too, and she was glad of that. 

They storm Hybern Hall, as a team and find Mr. Hybern cowering in the corner of his bedroom. 

The old man confesses. 

And she hauls him away, by the scruff of his neck, the American team waiting for them on the outskirts of Moscow, are only too happy to take him. She knows the Americans would torture him into insanity, extracting every last drop of blood and lies from his body. 

*~*~* 

Three months after the morning on the bridge, she’s home. She uses the thumbprint scanner on Cassian’s front door. She has to remind herself this is home for her now too. She is done traveling the world for violence. 

Cassian wraps his arms around her and holds her to him as if he is a drowning man and she is a life raft. 

They come together like the rising tide meeting the sea. It’s late and she doesn’t care. They sate each other time and time again. She never thought that Cassian would want her so insatiably, but he does, and so does she. 

They lay panting, after their third round, and Cassian laughs. “You know, I never thought I’d say this but you tired me out,” the deep rumbling laugh falling from his lips makes her curl tighter into him. 

“I probably shouldn’t stress your heart out so badly, you old man.” Nesta rolls her eyes affectionately. 

“You stress my heart every day just by existing but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Cassian sighs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://cassiansiphions.tumblr.com)


	5. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All was well.

There’s so much to be done at first, she doesn’t remember half the things that happen, and slowly, as the months go by, and both Rhysand and Cassian get stronger… she can begin to think clearly again. 

Amarantha and Tamlin were dead. Rhys was going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, but he would live, and the unbelievable tragedies that had been bestowed on their family were healing bit by bit. 

Cassian comes home from physical therapy one day, and he’s speaking to her, telling her how it went. 

“How long has it been since you got shot?” Nesta asks her husband. 

He quirks a brow, “Eight months, nine months soon enough. Why?” 

“I think I’d like to quit being a nun,” Nesta says with a snort. 

Realization washes over Cassian, he waggles his eyebrows at her, “My wife is desirous of my body again,” Cassian gives a little whoop of joy. They’d indulged the one night,  _ months  _ ago because of their overwhelming desire for each other, but both of them knew they needed to be careful because of Cassian’s injuries. 

Nesta’s cheeks are bright red, she didn’t use to be embarrassed by anything. Modesty had long ago deserted her, but she’d gotten a new lease on life. She was  _ allowed _ to be whatever she wanted. She was allowed to blush when her husband looked at her like he didn’t want anyone else… ever. 

She cups his cheek and places a delicate hand on his shoulder, “Tell me,  _ husband _ , am I all that you desire?” 

Cassian smiles, kisses her sweetly, and in that low, rumbling timbre of his, “Should I inflate your ego even more?” 

Nesta grins, “Of course you should.” 

Cassian picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist, and then her arms around his neck. He carries her to the bedroom and splays her out. She’d taken to wearing little floaty skirts, and today she’d forgone underwear—and a bra. 

She wasn’t sure how Cassian had kept his hands to himself for as long as he had—but maybe that was just her ego talking. 

She’s about t kick her heels off, but Cassian stops her, with a low growl of need, “Leave them on.” 

And she knows she’s about to be properly fucked. 

Cassian softens her with his mouth and fingers, and she shudders against him countless times. He licks long strokes down her slit, and her toes curl, and her hips jerk when he sucks on her clit and plunders her with his fingers. 

It had been too long for both of them, Cassian is leaking as Nesta looks at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Let me ride you,” Nesta’s croon of desire seems to break through the fog of their pleasure, and Cassian is on his back for her in a moment. 

Their clothes had seemed to melt away, she doesn’t remember how long ago she’d stripped for him, or him for her. She can’t bring herself to think about both their jobs. It’s the middle of the afternoon and she’s lowering her hips onto his cock. Her smallish, pert breasts bounce as she gains momentum. 

“Fuck, Nes, you’re so beautiful like this.” Cassian groans. 

She does not tire of hearing him speak of her thus. 

“Cas, oh, Cassian!” Nesta’s orgasm rolls through her, a hurricane leveling everything in its path. 

He takes her hips in his sizable hands then, and tops from the bottom. Fucking her hard and slamming into her. His cock grazes her cervix several times, and the fact that he hasn’t slowed even for her orgasm is making her dizzy. 

Cassian comes, swearing and cursing a blue streak, her name on his lips. 

And when they lay back, Nesta doesn’t care that they hadn’t used protection. Because she wants Cassian to have what he’d wanted when this whole thing began—a child. 

Cassian sighs sleepily, “I love you, wife.” 

“My husband, you are all that I do love.” She replies sleepily. 

*~*~* 

Rhysand has gotten quite good at this whole wheelchair thing. He’s in his racing wheelchair, and given that it’s a sunny spring day, he’s decided that he, Feyre, and the kids should go for a jog. Feyre can barely keep up with her husband, as she jogs with the baby carrier. She laughs, and he thinks he might like to bottle the sound and get drunk on it. 

“Hey speedy, don’t get too far ahead!” Feyre calls for her husband. 

Rhysand teases her, “You can’t catch me!” 

Feyre huffs and puffs until they come to the outlook where they were planning to have a picnic. She stills and watches as her husband breathes hard, and stares at her, the mood settles, and Rhysand smiles crookedly at her. “I didn’t think that everything that happened would be the beginning of my life—not the end.” 

Feyre kneels before him, “I love you, I have always loved you, and no one will get in the way of our happiness.” Feyre returns his smile now, “Besides, my sister has taught me how to shoot, so anyone who messes with us now—will face my wrath, and I can guarantee you  _ I am a force to be reckoned with _ .” 

Rhysand laughs himself hoarse—and they enjoy a beautiful morning in Aspen. 

It doesn’t matter they’re half a world away from their family—they’re safe, and Rhysand figures that distance makes the heart grow fonder—especially his brothers. 

*~*~* 

Azriel is woken at 3:56 am to the sounds of Elain going into labor, just four weeks after he leaves Russia—for good. 

His normally warm brown skin is ashen. Elain is swearing a slew of curses that would make a sailor blush. 

“Honey—“ be tries to soothe her. 

“GODDAMN IT!” Elain roars and it dawns on Azriel that the gushing noise is her water breaking. 

He carries her bridal style to their Tesla which he will likely have to trash after Elain shreds the back seat with her rage. 

One hour later—and a pair of twins later Elain and Azriel welcome their unexpected bundles of joy into the world. 

They name the little boy and girl—Nesta and Rhysand. After the woman who’d saved them both from a future that was damnable, and the man who’d dared to dream. 

*~*~* 

The state of world politics was in turmoil. 

And yet… Nesta was never happy when things were easy. 

All was well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for going on this journey with me. I'm a bit sad it's over, this story burned through me like wildfire. It needed to be written. I realize there are quite a few loose ends-- that the epilogue didn't tie up (what happened to the world? what happened to the people of russia?) but i feel like... if you think about it, then you'll know that everything kind of resolves itself in the end. 
> 
> The moral of this story was that--no matter how bad things get--they can always get better. 
> 
> Hope, I guess is the overarching theme in my works. 
> 
> Now that I've blubbered on for several paragraphs! Some helpful links! 
> 
> Come talk to me about your ideas, I'm taking prompts! [send a prompt](https://cassiansiphions.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> [Check out my tumblr](https://cassiansiphions.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/sanktaleks) / [reylo ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlondons/pseuds/marriedreylo)
> 
> This work was inspired by the book Red War, by Vince Flynn. It's highly intriguing.


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